


Bite me while I taste your fingertips

by hopelessbookgeek



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: (Or mostly: truly not giving a shit that there are people in the room), Consensual Non-Consent, Consensual Violence, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fake AH Crew, GTA AU, Horrible disgusting trash, Reader-Insert, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Ryan and reader are Awful to each other BUT that's what they both like so, Unsafe Sex, Violent Sex, breath play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 17:03:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6996916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelessbookgeek/pseuds/hopelessbookgeek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When death, violence, and blood is as much a part of life like that, it tends to make things... complicated. Like small talk, and relationships. But primarily– sex. Or, Ryan and Reader work out some post-heist adrenaline in hardcore sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite me while I taste your fingertips

**Author's Note:**

> This is, uh. Listen, folks: this is unsafe sex. This is unhealthy. Do not do anything in this story without express, given consent! Get consent always! I didn't tag this story as non- or dub-con because as I attempted to express, this awful, terrible relationship is 100% consensual from both parties, but it IS kinda bloody so if that weirds you out, feel free to clock out. Otherwise, you depraved animals, enjoy.

To the Fake AH Crew, death is a good friend, an old friend. Taking a life is as natural as breathing; being ready to die is as much a part of waking up as brushing your teeth. When death, violence, and blood is as much a part of life like that, it tends to make things… complicated. Like small talk, and relationships. But primarily– sex.

You had joined the Crew almost a year ago. They were filthy degenerates, riddled with addictions and suffering from chronic cases of Being a Smart Ass, but god damn if they weren’t family by this point.

Sometimes more than family. You and Ryan had a flirtation going that had gotten you long lectures from Geoff about distracting each other on heists. You worked better together. You’d already told Geoff. And then when you got home, when the adrenaline was up…

When the heist was over and done, you strode into Geoff’s penthouse. Technically you all had your own apartments, but Geoff’s was the nicest, and anyway it had enough bedrooms and the biggest TV. Ryan pushed you up against the wall before everyone else had even come in.

“Get a fucking room,” Michael said with a laugh.

“Get a fucking life,” Ryan answered softly, and bit your neck. He unbuttoned your jeans with one hand and slid it into your panties, pushing two fingers inside you. You gasped and he kissed you deep.

Geoff sighed as he locked the door. “I survive almost certain death at the hands of the cops and this is the thanks I get. I’m changing the locks tomorrow.”

Ryan pulled away from you with a growl at the back of his throat. “If everyone is going to be so _intrusive_ we might as well get a damn room.” He withdrew his fingers, making you whimper, and took you by the hand to lead you to his bedroom.

“Stop fucking in my living room!” Geoff called after you. You ignored him.

When the door was firmly shut and locked, Ryan slammed his mouth back against yours and got to work tearing your clothes off. He tasted like blood and acrid greasepaint, and the hair that was coming loose from his ponytail brushed your face more gently than he would ever touch you. He tore his own clothes off faster than yours and kept kissing you, so hard your teeth clacked together. Your teeth caught on his lower lip and drew blood; for that he slammed your head against the door and held you there.

“How rough?” he growled between kisses.

“Rough as you can,” you answered breathlessly. “If you try and go easy on me I swear I’ll claw your eyes out.”

He didn’t answer verbally but shoved you onto your knees so hard they cracked on the hardwood and thrust his cock into your mouth about halfway. You’d had practice taking all of Ryan’s cock, but it was big, and it wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to stuff eight inches down your throat right away. But then, that was him being thoughtful, and with death still hammering in your blood, that was the last thing you wanted.

You dug your nails into his hips deep enough to leave a mark and he hissed, pulled you off him by your hair. “No need to be a nasty bitch.”

You glared up at him. Fuck, he looked good, his muscular chest heaving and sweating, his sky-blue eyes narrowed. “Ryan, if you don’t stuff your fucking cock down my _fucking throat_ , I swear to God–” You didn’t get to finish your statement because he swung his fist in a loose backhand, his knuckles catching your eye. It would bruise later, but fuck, that was more like it. You took him down to the base, his pubic hair brushing your nose. His hand knotted in your hair– when had it come undone from its braid?

One of your hands stayed clutching Ryan’s hips and the other dipped between your legs to circle your clit. Sometimes he was in a mood where he wouldn’t let you touch yourself at all; today, clearly, he was fine with it as long as you didn’t slacken your pace. As if to remind you he bucked his hips, forcing his cock somehow deeper. That almost choked you; in return you scraped your teeth over the delicate head of his cock when you bobbed. He hissed again and gripped your hair a little tighter; your scalp burned and stung, but somehow it felt good. Right.

You went down on him for a while, and every time you thought you might pull away, he snapped his hips right back into position and dragged you by your hair to where he wanted you. You rubbed your clit faster; it was hard not to be incredibly turned on, and the adrenaline got you so high, higher than the coke ever had, and Ryan was gonna fuck you so good you wouldn’t be able to walk all weekend– you moaned when you came, and the reverberations made him echo the moan with one of his own. Saliva ran down your chin and you didn’t bother to wipe it away, and while you recovered from your orgasm you let your jaw hang slack and let Ryan do all the work.

“God, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathed. “Your throat is so fucking tight… Feels so good, or I’d pull out and come all over your face. You’d probably like it, whore, being covered in my come. Fuck, I’m gonna–” He spilled down your throat and you swallowed dutifully, the bitter-salt taste thick on your tongue. When he pulled out, he did it slow, and a string of come connected his cock to your lip obscenely.

After a second’s rest he pulled you to your feet and released your hair. “Bed, now. You’re riding me.” You let him lie on the bed and straddled his lap quick, and your sensitive clit rubbing against his still-hard cock made you gasp. You leaned over and kissed him messy, sloppy, letting him taste his come on your tongue. His hands came up to roughly squeeze your breasts, tweaking your nipples hard.

“Fuck, that feels good,” you said, and he only grabbed at you harder.

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said, as though that was a direct response.

“No.”

“No? You’re telling me _no_?” This was your dance, choreographed perfectly. These were the boundaries you had negotiated before so that you did not have to do so now. “You don’t get to tell me no. Fuck you.” He grabbed his cock with one hand, shoved you up, and thrust into you.

The noise you let out was part-moan, part-scream, entirely loud enough that the entire penthouse would know what was going on. That was always the plan, that was why the door was locked– after being burst in on once, you knew better than to give your friends any more chances to fuck with you. Ryan’s cock was seated deep inside you, and no matter how many times you fucked, you always seemed to forget exactly how it felt to have a cock that size in you. Words escaped you so you expressed your pleasure by digging your nails into his chest and dragging, like you were peeling an apple, if apples bled when you peeled them.

“You know what happens when you make me bleed,” Ryan said, warning in his voice, and smacked you openhanded hard enough that you saw stars, hips pistoning all the while. “Now both sides of that pretty face are gonna be swollen and bruised.”

“Fucking asshole,” you muttered, and wrapped your hands around his neck. You knew just where to dig your fingertips in, where to slam down if you wanted to take his breath entirely away. You didn’t– yet. Instead you pressed down slowly, and gave him a look to tell him these were the rules: _you have until you pass out to come._

It didn’t take as long as before. He scraped his nails down your back to make it arch, giving you wounds as deep as you’d given him. Fair was fair. His face turned red as your strangulation started to really set in. You knew from experience how close to paradise he would be in a minute, and indeed, just when he was about to pass out, you released his neck, and the sexual arousal in combination with the sheer relief of oxygen flooding his system made him come then and there.

When he had spent himself inside you, you climbed off him to lay beside him, and if he got two orgasms then fuck it, so did you. You slid three fingers easily inside yourself and used your other hand to rub your clit, and even with Ryan panting beside you like he’d run ten miles and with the almost sickening squelch of your fingers against his come inside you, you came quickly.

When you pulled your fingers out of yourself, you wiped them on his thigh. “Ew,” he said softly.

“I don’t care,” you said immediately, as if he’d asked. “God, that was good. One day you’re gonna knock my teeth out.”

“Ah, shut up, I didn’t hit you that hard. You’ll only be bruised for a few days. Look, you can still see out of that eye just fine.” He was right. You propped yourself up on one elbow and looked down at him, his chest and lip bleeding, his throat starting to bruise.

“You look like shit,” you said, and he laughed.

“Yeah, you too. Worth it, though.”

“Definitely.” He’d probably kill you some day, but hey, if the choices were down to dying on a heist in the middle of a dirty street surrounded by cops or dying in bed with a fat dick buried so deep inside you that you could almost taste it… yeah, that one sounded a lot better.

There was a knock on the door and Michael’s voice rang irritated through it. “If you disgusting fucking animals are done, there’s pizza.”


End file.
